| Lisa Marie
Cole
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| Factory Girl Crap - she says. Little Lolita has broken yet another nail. A Lee press-on painted sparkly blue. Lo st - she is. In a steel world. Populated by heavy machinery, And danger. Her buxom explodes over the push up bra she wears tightly like a rubber band under Her see through white tank top ribbed over her curves like a sheath. Yet, how little material it is, Reeks of sweat - drool downward like a waterfall, Smelling of a highly intoxicating smell More of an aphrodisiac than Good n plenty or pumpkin pie And the men dressed in three o'clock shadows And wrap around safety glasses, and blue mechanic overalls Are spellbound. "Hey baby". They say. "Cutie, wanna come sit in my lap?" They say. Little Lolita says nothing, even though she wears a perfectly formed mouth. For she has a baby to think of. A single mom, she is. And raise her, she must. College ain't for her, and neither are the streets. So, she continues. Screws the cap on the hot engine, tight as a virgin. Daydreaming of her replacement nails. And she smiles. The next ones, a French manicure. Professionally done. |
Copyright © 1999 Lisa Marie Cole All Rights Reserved |
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